Whisky made him somewhat sentimental. After one long
drink he thought of his youth in a town in Pennsylvania. He had been one
of six children, all boys, and at an early age his mother had died. Jim
thought of her and then of his father. When he had himself come west into
Ohio, and later when he was a soldier in the Civil War, he despised his
father and reverenced the memory of his mother. In the war he had found
himself physically unable to stand up before the enemy during a battle.
When the report of guns was heard and the other men of his company got
grimly into line and went forward, something happened to his legs and he
wanted to run away. So great was the desire in him that craftiness grew in
his brain. Watching his chance, he pretended to have been shot and fell to
the ground, and when the others had gone on crept away and hid himself. He
found it was not impossible to disappear altogether and reappear in another
place. The draft went into effect and many men not liking the notion of war
were willing to pay large sums to the men who would go in their places.
Jim went into the business of enlisting and deserting. All about him were
men talking of the necessity of saving the country, and for four years he
thought only of saving his own hide. Then suddenly the war was over and he
became a farm hand. As he worked all week in the fields, and in the evening
sometimes, as he lay in his bed and the moon came up, he thought of his
mother and of the nobility and sacrifice of her life.
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